Coincidence Page 4

  “And anyway, my grades were not so great. I was sure they’d never accept me over the other kids who were applying.”

  But accept him they did. Ten days after the interview, to his chagrin and his mother’s delight, he received the acceptance package. He had no choice but to go. And now he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, he was going to like it.

  6

  When the van dropped them off at the dock, Melissa was amazed by the size of the ship. It looked huge, certainly bigger than she had anticipated. All of the lines and ropes made it look confusing and exciting at the same time.

  Dave Cameron told her she was assigned to cabin 119. Pierre showed her the way, lugging her bag down the stairway to her cabin for her. He had promised Dave he would go with him to pick up the last group of students at the airport, so he was forced to bid his new friend adieu for the time being.

  Opening the cabin door, Melissa’s first impression was, Oh, my God! Four people can’t live in here for a year!

  Four paces into the cabin was a wall with four sections of three shelves each, one section for each student. To the left was an aisle about three feet wide and six feet long with bunk beds on either side. There were two drawers under each lower bunk. That was it for storage space. Just inside the cabin door to the left was a tiny washroom with a small sink, a shower stall barely big enough to turn around in, and a toilet, or “head,” as it was called onboard ship. The whole cabin was about ten feet square.

  Two of her roommates had arrived earlier and taken the lower bunks, so Melissa claimed the inside upper one for hers.

  The thought of unpacking was depressing. What would she do if her clothes and stuff didn’t fit? It took almost half an hour to unpack; some stuff she simply left on her bunk until she could figure out what to do with it. Jettisoning it into the Pacific began to seem the best option. And she had been so careful, she thought, to pack only the most essential of items. Clearly there was a discrepancy between what the ship builder deemed “essential” versus what an average teenaged girl did. She realized why the students had all been given soft canvas bags—there wasn’t any space for hard suitcases.

  Melissa was just squishing her bag into the corner of her storage drawer, hoping she’d be able to close it afterward, when her three cabinmates opened the door, nearly falling on top of her as they entered.

  “Whoa! That’s one way of making introductions!” one of them laughed from the lower bunk into which she’d rolled in order not to step on Melissa. “I’m Nancy.”

  “I’m Kathy,” one of the others said, stretching out a hand to help Melissa off the floor. “Kathy Reid.”

  “And I’m Trudy Baker,” the third one said, when she had recovered from her fit of giggling.

  The four traded preliminary information. Nancy Shore was from the Boston area, entering grade twelve. Kathy was a gradetwelve student as well, from Calgary, and Trudy was a grade-eleven student from Montréal. Trudy had been among the last group of students that Dave and Pierre had picked up at the airport, so she had to make do with the only unclaimed bunk, the outside upper one. But that was okay, the others told her. She was the “child” of the four of them, a mere sixteen to their seventeen, so it was only right for them to get first pick.

  Melissa liked all three of her cabinmates instantly. She decided if it was at all possible for four strangers to get along in a space not much bigger than a doghouse, their chances were better than most.

  At 1600 hours everyone was called on deck for introductions. The professional crew consisted of Captain Luke Marzynski; Dr. Elliott Williams, who was first mate as well as ship’s physician; Henry Mattox, the second mate; two engineers, Matt and Sam; Jarred, the cook; Mac, the bosun, who was in charge of the ship’s rigging; and the bosun’s mate, Charlie. The teachers were Dave Cameron, Sharon Rock, Tom Michaels, Mary Wilson, and Anika Johnson, who was the shipboard director.

  Melissa looked around at the Floaties assembled on deck. She checked out her competition among the girls and was dismayed to find it pretty stiff. But she always underestimated her own attractiveness. She noted with resignation that she was, as always, the tallest girl. As for the boys, they were the usual mixture of good-looking and nerdish and all points in between. But Pierre was the only real standout, so she resolved to reel him in him, hook, line, and sinker, and the sooner the better. No other girl, no matter how cute and petite, was going to have a chance at him.

  As for how she was going to put her plan into operation, she hadn’t the least idea.

  After the introductions, Captain Marzynski outlined the first week’s itinerary. It would include moving the ship to another dock, where provisioning would take place, intensive training on lines, sails, and terminology, and getting used to laying aloft.

  That first night the students ate onboard but were free to leave the ship after supper as long as they went in groups. For safety reasons, students had to be in groups of at least four when going ashore. Such security might not be necessary in San Diego, but it would be in other ports, so the rule was put in place for the duration of the voyage.

  Melissa grabbed Nancy and made a beeline for Pierre, who was wandering around the deck with his cabinmate Dan, as if in search of something.

  “Nancy and I are going ashore for a walk if we can just find two more people to go with us,” Melissa said. “How about you two?”

  There, she thought. That sounded plausible, not too obvious.

  “I—we—were just looking for two people to go with us to get some ice cream,” Pierre said.

  Dan shot him a glance, this being news to him, but off they went with Melissa and Pierre taking the lead. Nancy and Dan tried to think of things to talk about, aware of how redundant they were. Melissa and Pierre weren’t saying much either, but it was clear that they were communicating beautifully.

  It was as if they were made for each other, Melissa thought, the way their strides matched, the way she could forget about her height altogether instead of feeling like a gawky Gulliver among the Lilliputians. She was surprised to find herself touching his arm as they walked. That was something she’d never have felt comfortable doing with a guy before. But Pierre didn’t seem to mind. She hoped that meant he felt the same warmth and excitement she was feeling—a feeling she decided she would quite enjoy getting used to.

  As for Pierre, he not only was warming up to the idea of Blue Water Academy, but he also was incredulous that it included the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen and she was walking by his side. He was pretty sure she liked him, but it was always hard to tell with girls. He hadn’t had much experience with them, thanks to his prolonged incarceration at Caneff. He’d flirted a little with one or two of the girls in his neighborhood when he was home on vacations, but he’d never really gotten to know any girl very well. What was the point if he was just going to be packed off to school again in a few weeks? Besides, he hadn’t been so sure he wanted to have any romantic entanglements, ever. Look at what had happened to his parents’ marriage. He’d be better off not setting himself up for something so devastating.

  But that was before Melissa. There was just something about her, he thought. Something about the way she looked at him with her dancing eyes; something about the way she touched him, a touch that was exciting and comfortable at the very same time; something about the way she so often put into words exactly what he was thinking. There was, Pierre decided, something inevitable about her—about them.

  Their feelings only increased as they spooned up their ice cream. They had both been torn between the espresso chocolate chip and the triple chocolate treat, so they ordered one of each to share. They were oblivious of Nancy and Dan as they talked about their families, their friends, their hopes. They found their outlooks remarkably similar despite their different backgrounds. By the time they reached the ship, just before curfew, each was convinced they were a perfect match.

  Scarcely noticing when Dan and Nancy bid them good night, Melissa and Pierre moved to the bow
and talked for another hour. They were both dead tired, but neither wanted to break the spell. Eventually, however, exhaustion took over and they agreed it was time to turn in.

  Melissa took Pierre’s hand in hers and looked into his eyes, marveling again that she had to tilt her chin to do so.

  “I’ve really enjoyed this evening. I am so glad I met you, Pierre. Good night.”

  He squeezed her hand, then quickly raised it and brushed his lips against it, murmuring, “Bonne nuit.”

  7

  The next day, after breakfast and colors, it was time for sail training. Mac, the bosun, handed out a sheet of paper with diagrams identifying every line and sail onboard. All students, he announced, fixing them with his intense blue eyes, would be expected to know and understand the function of each one. Over the next few months, they would have training and theory classes every week for two hours at a time. A lot more time, he went on, his soft Scottish burr lingering over the r in more, would be spent on deck for hands-on experience.

  “For example, ye need to learn how to handle a line under load and where to position yer fingers so you don’t lose them,” he said.

  He and Anika passed out a numbered harness to each Floatie.

  “Ye must wear yer harnesses at all times aloft and on deck during watch. Is that clear to everyone? Right. Now ye’ll have yer first try at climbing the yardarms. The lowest yard there is called the ‘course.’ Who’ll be first, heh?”

  Pierre’s hand went up like a shot. Piece of gateau, he thought, after the rock-climbing he had to do at Caneff. And Melissa would be watching.

  He climbed the rat lines to the course, then beyond it all the way to the “royal,” the small sail at the very top of the mast.

  All of the students managed to get at least to the course, but some of them needed several more days of training before they could get to the royal. And a few were so uncomfortable with the climb that they never made it to the top.

  “There’s nae shame in that,” Mac assured them. “We’ll work ye just as hard down the lower levels.”

  Right after lunch Mac led the students back onto the deck. His stride was surprisingly long for such a short man. He walked with purpose, head down, bent forward slightly at the waist, with the barest hint of a left-to-right roll in his gait, the sole remnant of an accident many years ago. At fifty-seven he had more stamina than most of the kids on the ship. Combined with the advantage of experience, his energy enabled him to get any job done quickly and efficiently. He was slight, narrow-boned, but wiry and hard-muscled from years of physical labor. He had the agility and tenacity of a squirrel.

  “Ready?” he murmured to Dave Cameron, standing at the rail. “Over ye go, lad.” Then he shouted, “Man overboarrrrrd!”

  Dave enjoyed his role in these man-overboard drills. He had been a hero inadvertently several times in his life, not only finding himself on the scene just when someone needed help, but also having the presence of mind to know how to help them.

  He had worked at a shopping mall, scooping ice cream, the summer before he started at Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. Late one evening he’d been walking to his car in the mall parking lot when he came upon two teenagers kicking a younger boy. They were taking out their frustration on him because he had just a few dollars in his wallet.

  Dave, although not half as brawny as the two thugs, had stormed into the fray with such vehemence that they had fled. One of them lost a shoe in his haste. The sneaker had dangled from the window lock in Dave’s bedroom for years until his mother converted the space into a library/guest room, with a rather more conventional décor when she realized her son had left the family nest for good.

  The following year, Dave had been walking from the Queen’s campus to his attic apartment on King Street when a van came squealing around the corner in front of him. The passenger door flew open and a young woman landed on the pavement at his feet. In short order Dave took in the van’s make, model, and license plate number, flagged down a motorist to call 911, applied pressure to the bleeding lacerations the woman had suffered from her fall, and talked her down from her hysteria as she told him of her abduction and sexual assault. Dave’s quick thinking helped the police catch the three men who had assaulted her.

  Yet a third incident had happened when Dave was in grad school. His first job after getting his undergraduate degree had been as a counselor at an outdoor program for young offenders, popularly known as “hoods in the woods.” He loved the experience, feeling a rapport with the students, difficult though they could be. He decided he had finally found his calling and a use for his sociology degree. He would be a teacher. He enrolled in a one-year B.Ed. program at the University of Toronto’s Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. His plan was to teach high school social studies.

  Toward the end of his program, he was practice teaching at a high school on Bloor Street near the U of T campus. Every morning he walked along Bloor on his way to school, Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand, briefcase in the other—props he carried into his classroom each day to make him appear older than his students. One day, he smelled smoke and raced down a side street in the direction it seemed to be coming from. He zigzagged his way across alleys and streets until he found its source: a two-story house with black smoke billowing from an upstairs window and flames licking the roof. He could hear cries coming from inside.

  Dave pounded on the door and rang the bell, then, using all of his weight, threw himself against the door again and again until the lock gave way. A young mother lay crumpled at the foot of the stairs, overcome by fumes. Two smoke-smudged toddlers were clinging to her and poking her, crying for her to get up. Dave scooped the woman up and hefted her over his left shoulder, tucked the smaller of the tots under his right arm, and, grabbed the hand of the older one. He staggered out of the house just as a fire engine careened up to the curb and five firefighters swarmed into action.

  The city awarded him a citation for bravery for his actions, delighting his class almost as much as it embarrassed him.

  Now he hit the water and swam briskly to the designated spot a hundred feet from the Inspiration. He relished his part in the man overboard—MOB, in sailing vernacular—drills. It was a nice change of perspective, after all, from being the too-heralded hero (and enduring the proud but anxious flutterings of his parents as well as the teasing of his friends) to the hapless victim, whose only responsibility was to flail about in the brine shouting for help.

  Mac ran the drill according to a precise protocol. As the students would learn in their classroom sessions, it was the job of the spotter, the first person to witness someone overboard, to shout the alarm, then throw a life ring and MOB buoy from the bridge to the person in the water. As usual, Mac’s aim was impeccable; the ring and buoy hit the water within an arm’s length of Dave. Mac kept an unwavering eye on Dave, squinting into the light of the sun dazzling off the ripples, and kept his right arm outstretched, pointing continuously at Dave, first from the deck, then up on the rigging as he scuttled, using his left arm and both legs, to the mizzen shrouds. He remained with his gaze and finger fixed on Dave until the officer on watch—today it was Captain Marzynski himself—relieved him.

  Anika provided running commentary for the students as the captain checked to see that the life ring and MOB buoy had been thrown in and then threw an activated SART—Search and Rescue Radar Transponder—into the water. He pressed the MOB button on the GPS and sounded the alarm signal—two short, two long, two short blasts, repeated three times. Had the ship been under sail, he would have turned it into the wind to stop; had they been under power, he would have executed a Williamson turn.

  Because the captain was the watch officer today, the first mate, Dr. Williams, took command of the ship and carried out the rescue procedure. Anika explained that if a MAYDAY call—an urgency message—was deemed necessary, the first mate would issue it and then stand ready to communicate with the rescue craft on channel 16 of the VHF radio.

 
The captain assigned duty lookouts to take over observation of the MOB. The rescue-craft launch team, consisting of Mac and the second mate, Henry, and the crew members on deck watch, launched the Zodiac, an inflatable dinghy. Then the rescue-craft team—Henry and Sam and the second engineer—leapt into the Zodiac and made for the man overboard. Dave was floating on his back in lazy circles, luxuriating in the warm water, unconcerned about the drama unfolding onboard.

  Dr. Williams and his first aid team stood at the rail with the “grab and go kit,” a stretcher and a blanket, waiting for Dave’s arrival. All other crew members were gathered amidships, ready to assist in any way requested.

  Henry and Sam hauled Dave up and over the railing onto the deck into the waiting hands of the first aid team. This was the hardest part of the exercise for Dave; it went against the grain for him to stay as inert as a sack of barley while the others labored over him. He did his best not to be helpful as Dr. Williams demonstrated life-saving techniques. At the end of the exercise, the resuscitated MOB arose from the stretcher to thunderous applause and cheers from the Floaties.

  The students were both exhilarated and exhausted after the MOB drill. They’d had no idea it was coming, which was exactly the way Mac had planned it. He firmly believed that the best method of instruction was to catch the kids off guard; the emotion and initial uncertainty of the situation would ensure a vivid memory of the procedures called for.

  “It beats a list on a chalkboard any day of the week,” is what he always said.

  8

  By mid-July, Juan, Phillip, Polo, and Severo had moved into the house in Buenaventura.

  With his customary meticulousness, Juan had worked out a strategy that covered all contingencies. He had dispatched the others to Medillin, where they bought, using assumed names, an SUV, a Jimmy, and a moped. All were used but in good enough condition for their purposes. He had prepared a detailed shopping list and they had taken turns over the next six weeks going into town—taking care to go to several different stores to allay any suspicions—to buy provisions for the house and the boat.